


Tipping the Scales

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Flirting, One Night Stands, Post-Hogwarts, Rimming, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 09:32:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7929622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected one night stand, with significant promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tipping the Scales

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Bring Back the Porn Challenge! 
> 
> I used 2/3 of some prompts from : Hermione/Pansy – 'the night before the morning after', and 'she _knows_ things'.

Hermione Granger is the last person Pansy expected to wind up talking to at one of Draco's insipid garden parties, but, well…

"Did you know that when a peacock's feathers quiver it emits a low-frequency sound inaudible to humans?" Granger sips her wine, and Pansy stares at her sage profile.

"I… didn't," is all she can think to say.

"It means they want to mate."

Granger's hair is swept up, revealing the length of her neck. Pansy notices that the thin strap of her dress has fallen off her shoulder, yet Granger makes no move to adjust it, leaving her collar bone a bare, graceful disturbance to Pansy's ability to give a shit about peacocks. Granger swallows, and Pansy's lips part, imagining tracing her own parted lips from the dip at the base of her throat, along that elegant line of collar bone, to a shoulder left vulnerable to the elements.

Granger wanders down a path, and Pansy feels compelled to follow. Not in the way that Imperio compels but by curiosity, arousal, a scale tipping just slightly off balance before falling under the weight of necessity.

"Orchids," Granger says, her fingers trailing gently over one of Draco's prized plants. "Their name derives from the Greek word for 'testicles'."

When Pansy gives a short laugh, Granger looks over her shoulder, and her lips twitch. "It's because of the shape of the roots." She shrugs. "But I'm much more interested in the petals." She sips her wine and turns to face Pansy. "Aren't you?"

It sounds less like a question, more a challenge.

Pansy tilts her head, frowning slightly, assessing. But when Granger's smile grows just a touch, the scale topples over completely; it clatters to the ground; it breaks. 

Pansy sweeps her arm around Granger's lower back and pulls her in so fast she gasps, her wine sloshing over the lip of the glass.

Pansy opens Granger's smiling lips with a kiss.

 

A soft hoot and a peck at the window pane, and Pansy feels an arm lift off the bed beside her as Granger, who she'd assumed was still sleeping, gropes for a wand, finds it, and lets her bird in. 

" _Oof!_ Bloody hell!" The fat bundle of _The Daily Prophet_ lands on Pansy's stomach as the bird soars through the room and into the hall, presumably en route for the kitchen.

"Sorry," Granger slurs. "There hasn't been anyone on the side for a while. And Franklin can be very rude."

Pansy stretches, feeling the places on her body Granger gripped, bit, grabbed for when she came. Pansy's head swims with unbearably pleasant memories, fresh as morning tea: Her face between Granger's thighs, licking the slick from her clit; Granger's hands making hard fists in the sheets and then clawing for Pansy's shoulders once the quaking subsided so Pansy would rise up and kiss her…

And, Merlin, Granger: "Roll over." Her hands capable and exacting as she'd squeezed Pansy's arse and bent down. Her tongue lapping the crease, finding Pansy's clenched hole and swirling for entrance. She'd had Pansy craning up onto her knees, her back arched to provide access, her hand massaging one of her own tits while Granger ate her arse.

Pansy turns on her side now, and when she speaks she's not surprised to find her voice rough, changed by the screaming moans Granger wrenched out of her the night before. "You, Hermione Granger," she says. Granger grins sleepily, her hair a gorgeous mess. "You know things," Pansy tells her, scooting close enough to mouth along that irresistible collar bone.

Granger tucks the knuckle of a finger beneath Pansy's chin and nudges so that Pansy looks her in the eye. "I know what I like," she says. 

Pansy feels the heat and solidity of her confidence like something anchoring her body to the bed even while she feels capable of sprouting wings. She leans in and presses her lips to Granger's. "Hermione," she tries in a whisper, testing it, tender fingertips brushing the petal of an orchid.

Granger pulls Pansy on top of her, and the _Prophet_ goes joyfully unread.


End file.
